Flavors (14 page)

“Sadie?”

I jolted at the sound.
Mama. It was Mama's voice.

She didn't come around the corner but she knew. Somehow, she knew where I was.

And why.

“Honey, come on out,” she said gently. “Daddy and I ain't mad at you.”

Not mad
? My heart began to stir and flounder upward from the black pit of despair and guilt. Shame.

I slowly stood, quivery legs stiff from the long, cramped position, then hesitantly crept to the corner and peered around it. Mama was not there. She'd apparently gone back inside to collect Little Joe because Daddy was already walking toward the car, whistling.

Daddy sure didn't sound mad. Nor did he look mad when he glanced over his shoulder and caught me peeking around the corner. My breath hitched for a heartbeat, dread stirring. After all, Daddy wasn't always as quickly forgiving as Mama. His full mouth curled up at one corner. Then he winked at me and jerked his head in the direction of the car, a wordless
let's go.
Mama appeared with Little Joe in tow. I began to walk in their direction, my heart daring to begin to hope…just a little.

I quickly climbed into the tattered old back seat beside Little Joe, who grinned happily up at me, obviously blissful to see Mama and Daddy. Feeling as contrite as I'd ever felt in my life, I clasped my hands together and waited, resigned to my fate.

Mama looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. “Daddy and I figure you learned your lesson when Grandma Melton whupped you.” She reached over the seat and took my hand. “What you did was wrong. It really scared everybody. But we understand why you did what you did.”

“We do, Sadie,” Daddy said in a husky way.

I swiped a tear from my cheek and snuffled. “I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“We know you are.” Then she smiled softly at me as only your mama can, like the love starts at her toes and gushes up and spills out her beautiful cornflower blue eyes to splash all
over you. You can go swimming in it and float on top of it. It lifts you to the sky and soars you above dark clouds.

Into lemony sunshine.

“Let's go home, Sadie,” she said softly. “This time for good.”

True to their word, my parents never farmed us out to Grandma again. Nor to anyone else, for that matter. We never again, until we married, left hearth and home.

But we did continue to visit Grandma's farm each Sunday.

Two weeks after we went home, Mama and Daddy brought Little Joe and me down to the farm for our weekly visit. It was later than usual and we smelled supper cooking when we got out of the car.

“Mmm,” Mama said. “Smells like ham.”

“Or sausage,” Daddy added. “Maybe we'll get some.”

Excited, I ran down across the yard, past Grandpa and on down the slope to Frances' pen. When I ground to a halt there, the silence was eerie.

The pen was empty.

I ran back to the house just as the family sat down to supper. The table was laden with delicious fare. Fluffy biscuits, fried ham and red gravy, golden buttery grits, sausage and scrambled eggs. My stomach began to rumble as I took my place behind the table. Room had been made for Mama and Daddy across from me.

Nellie Jane sat beside me, unusually silent. Pale. She watched me with this strange look on her face.

“What?” I whispered.

“Shh,” Mama said, motioning toward Grandma, who was about to say the blessing.

“Lord, bless this food of which we are about to partake. Use it to the nourishment of our body. Amen.”

Tonight, the boys skipped their show, in deference to Mama and Daddy's presence.
What a relief
, I thought.

Then I remembered. “Nellie Jane,” I whispered, “where's Frances?”

She looked at me for a long time, sadness heavy in her gaze. Then she nodded to the platter of sausage and the bowl of ham and red-eye gravy.

“There's Frances,” she said, puckering and quickly sniffing back tears.

Neither of us ate a bite that night.

Weekly, Nellie Jane and I would disappear to the meadow or woods to catch up and share our lives, our dreams. Yeah, Nellie Jane had them just like I did. Not as grandiose as mine, but she still had dreams, like marrying Billy, a man she'd begun courting in her sixteenth year.

One Indian Summer day in the fall of our home-going, while in the meadow lounging on a blanket, Nellie Jane told me about the revival that'd just ended at the Methodist Church.

“Sadie, that pot-bellied preacher was the most fearsome thing I'd ever seen,” she insisted, the most animated I'd ever seen her. Delicious anticipation swirled inside me as I raptly waited for the rest of the story.

“He preached like his shirt tail was on fire and told about how if we don't confess our sins, we'll all be cast into the lake of fire that burns forever and ever. Well, Doodle and Clarence Henry was sittin' on the front pew, next to me. I watched 'em as their eyes got bigger and bigger and then that preacher man started rattlin' off all them who would be lost. He went down the list and when he got to the place the Bible says that all
liars would be cast into that lake that burns forever, they started cryin' like babies.”

I clapped my hands over my mouth, stifling giggles, and then thought better of it. This was serious, this eternity thing. “What happened?”

She grinned from ear to ear, a beautiful sight on Nellie Jane. “When he give ‘at altar call, I thought Doodle and Clarence Henry was gonna knock each other down runnin' to that altar to pray for forgiveness of their sins.”

Then, I lost the battle and burst into laughter with Nellie Jane echoing. “How are they doing now they got religion?” I asked when my laughter died down.

Nellie Jane sobered. “Well, actually, Sadie, they're doing pretty good. For them, I mean.” She cut her eyes at me, as in
wait and see
. Then silence settled over us, comfortable and good, and memories of the summer began to float through my mind. Suddenly, like a Jack-in-the-box, the day Grandma rejected my cake popped up. I felt anew the mortification. The hurt.

I took the plunge and asked her, “Nellie Jane, why wouldn't Grandma eat my cake?” My heart began to hammer and my breath grew short, but I wanted to know.

She looked at me as a blush crawled slowly up her pale neck. I felt her embarrassment and was sorry that I'd asked. I was about to apologize when she replied, “Sadie, Ma's funny about food. She was telling the truth about being afraid to eat anything green. Comes from when food spoils and turns greenish, you know? And – remember you had a bad rash on your hands that summer?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she was as afraid of germs as she was of spoilt food. She just didn't want you to spread germs by handling the food.”

The flash of fresh hurt was mild, as was my defensive reply. “Dr. Wright said it was an allergy. Called it eczema, I think.
Something on the farm was causing it because it went away for good when I went home. It wasn't a germ thing.”

Nellie Jane looked at me sympathetically. “Just try tellin' Ma that.” Then she laughed softly. “She's just set in her ways, Sadie. And by the way, I loved your cake. And so did the boys.”

I burst into laughter. “Yeah. I remember. That cake disappeared faster'n you could say booger-boo. Thanks for the compliment.”

“You're welcome,” she said, that beautiful shyness creeping back into her voice.

“Love you, Nellie Jane,” I said.

“Love you, too,” she said, blushing pinker than ever and returning my smile.

We've remained close through the years. No closer friend have I had than my Aunt Nellie Jane, who found happiness and a beautiful family with her Billy.

Nellie Jane was a late bloomer, too. Fortunately, marriage and motherhood agreed with her. She grew prettier with time. And more confident. Like the other Melton women, she's battled weight all through the years. Most of the time, she wins. Overall, she's happy just to maintain a healthy level.

Me? I've fluffed up to a healthy size. Being an overachiever, I refuse to
let myself go
, as Grandma Melton used to say. So, if I gain three to five pounds over my ideal one-hundred-thirty, I stop the world, go hungry, lose it, then get on with life.

“You're obsessive,” my own daughter Kaleigh sometimes tells me. But she grins when she says it, knowing that that's
me
. I
am
obsessive. But it's the good kind.

Maveen? Well, she and Gene had three beautiful daughters and have grown old together, enjoying grandchildren and family reunions that she, Nellie Jane and I organize. She's still beautiful. Her gray hair is dyed auburn and she's still thin as a rail, giving her a girlish look even all these years later.

As always, she looks gorgeous in anything she wears, and those deep-set silvery eyes still radiate love and generosity. One thing Maveen did that thrilled me was to go back to school and get her GED credits. She'd dropped out of school in the eighth grade, a common occurrence in those days.

By the time her own Annie Ruth was in eighth grade, Maveen told me one day, “I don't want my kids to be smarter'n me. It was okay for you to be smarter, Sadie, but my own kids?” She shook her head decisively. “Huh uh.”

Nellie Jane and I laughed along with her, as at ease with each other as we'd been all those years back when we'd lounged in the meadow beneath blue southern sky, watching frothy white clouds float overhead. This day, however, we sat on Maveen's bed, crosslegged and sipping gourmet coffee. The bedspread was not hobnail but Laura Ashley. Gene, like my dad, went back to night school, upgraded his education and became my father's business partner in Melton's Heating and Air Conditioning.

Maveen now wore the best in clothing. She lived in a luxurious two-story, four-thousand-square-foot brick structure, in a nice neighborhood.

“My, my,” I said, holding up my Starbucks cup, “our tastes have gotten fancy along the way.”

“Yeah,” Maveen laughed. “You oughta buy for my kids. You'd really
know fancy.”
Then she grew contemplative. “I'm really happy with my life. Ya'll know that. It's just – the thing I really hate that I done was drop out of school. Sometimes, I think the kids are ashamed of me when I meet their friends' parents here in this neighborhood. All them got college educations. Speak better'n me. Y'know?” She shrugged limply, sighed and raised her eyebrows. “But that's all water under the bridge, huh? Too late to turn back now, as the song goes.” She forced a smile.

“I know I'm one to talk, Maveen,” Nellie Jane said, “but you can start by going to the Anderson night school and get your high school diploma.”

“That's right, Maveen,” I jumped in. “It's never too late. I read about a woman who finished college in her nineties. The best part of the story is that she was loved by everybody on campus. During my college years, I met quite a few midlife students. Hey,” I playfully poked her shoulder. “If anybody can do it, you can.”

“You think?” Maveen perked up, eyes sparkling with anticipation. “You really think I could do it, Sadie?”

“Shoot yeah.”

“
Gol-lay
– I'd really love to do that.”

“And Maveen,” I injected, “your girls aren't ashamed of you. Never. You should hear what they say when you're not around. They compare you to their friends' moms and say how their mama is always there for them, not out at club meetings or working at careers. They brag about how you're always the first to volunteer to bake cookies and cakes for good causes and how your cooking is the best in the world. Most of all, they say how you love and protect them. I love to hear them say how you keep them in line by saying, ‘You're big, but I'm bigger. I can still whup your butt.'” We all three broke into laughter then. “Like Nellie Jane, you're first and foremost a mama. And wife. Now, it's time to be you.”

Maveen took that in, her eyes running a range of emotions from pride to humility, growing more and more moist. “So,” I added, “When you go back to school, it will be something you do for yourself. The world will open up to you. You'll meet interesting people and begin to tune into their world of knowledge. Your boundaries will enlarge. You'll discover literature and science and art and other things you've never tasted of.”

I smiled at her, my heart singing. “Maveen, you'll love it.”

We turned the conversation to the upcoming family reunion. “Let's get Clarence Henry to do the devotional,” I suggested. We had several ministers in the clan now so we tried to rotate the honor of the invocation delivery. Clarence Henry's religion had “took” and he'd served in the Methodist church for decades now.